Failed Attempts
by manicpixiedreamnope
Summary: I was almost to the door when I was startled by a sudden low, clear voice. "I would like it verra much if ye'd stop tryin' to leave me, Claire." it said, a bit patronizing. "Or at least do it in the daylight so as I'm dressed to come after ye. It's no fair in the middle of the night when you've your shift and I canna even see my shoes." A little collection of one shots. Fluff.
1. Chapter 1

What am I even doing i am obsessed with this book.

This is something that I thought up because I can't stop thinking. If I were claire, I would have tried a little harder to escape the MacKenzie clan. This is three little Claire-escape-attempt oneshots, at different stages of Jamie-frustration (because there can always be more hot Jamie frustration). Takes place after an implied first few escape attempts, after they're married. Roughly in chronological order.

—

It was a cold night, one of the colder ones I'd experienced in my time at castle Leoch. The rheumy, tin-man feeling in my joints gave me the fleeting impression that I was covered in a thin layer of frost. Except for the searing stripe of heat across my back, where Jamie's arm was haphazardly slung, that is.

I was careful not to fall entirely asleep on this particular night, as the entire clan, it seemed, was at an impromptu celebration earlier, and most everyone would be passed out drunk by now. I had taken great measures to prepare rations and such in a sad, little rucksack I'd hidden under the bed. It lay there in wait for me, like a skittish wild rabbit, afraid to move for fear of being found. I didn't know what time it was, but Jamie had been soundly sleeping for at least an hour. I paid attention to his breathing until it grew long and deep, plying my drooping eyelids with bits of images and sounds of Frank that I had conjured, so as to keep them from sealing shut for the night.

I had to get back. This wasn't fair to anyone.

Slowly, _slowly_, I unwound myself from the blankets, and extricated myself from underneath Jamie's searing forearm. That man must constantly run a fever, I swear. Tentatively placing my feet on the squeaky wooden floor, I reached under the bed for my things. Slowly, I began moving towards the door, wrapping a shawl around my shoulders, and carrying my shoes as I'd decided to put them on once I was safely outside. Jamie was a light sleeper. Shoes make noise.

I was almost to the door when I was startled by a sudden low, clear voice.

"I would like it verra much if ye'd stop tryin' to leave me, Claire." it said, a bit patronizing. "Or at least do it in the daylight so as I'm dressed to come after ye. It's no fair in the middle of the night when you've your shift and I canna even see my shoes."

I paused, half startled, half wondering if I should try to fake a need to get some air to cover for myself. Knowing the backlash would be worse if I gave him reason to believe I was actually trying to run away, I took a chance. "Jamie- I… I didn't know you were awake. I just needed… I needed some air. That's all."

"Aye, awake since we lay down. An' I dinna believe ye, Sassenach. You're the worst liar I've e'er met. Christ, I canna even see your face an' I know you're playin' me false!" He sat up on the side of the bed, his feet solidly on the floor. "Listen, lass. I'm going to say this but once, an' if ye don't do as I say, ye won't like what's going to happen." I swallowed. His voice softened a bit. "Come back to bed, Sassenach. You're cold. I'm no going to hurt ye."

He knew exactly which heartstrings to pull. But still, I could not do it. Grateful for the blessed absence of light, and knowing that he could not stop me if he could not see me, I darted for the door. He outran me in two long bounds and pressed the door solidly shut with his back to it, resulting in a thunderclap BANG! as the door met its mark with much more force than was necessary. He held the door shut with his back, grabbed my two hands in one of his, and held my chin in the other. One deep inhale, and he growled, "Try that again, and I'll start tyin' ye to the bed at night."

It was incredibly difficult to challenge him in the dark, but I was grateful that I could not see his eyes, for I knew my resolve would weaken like enamel in acid were I able to.

"You wouldn't."

"Aye! Yes! I would! Make no mistake about that, Sassenach!"

"Where would you sleep, then?" I pressed further, playing the only card I had, fully aware that it was no winner.

"Under ye, I suppose. You do no weigh that much. And that way, I'm sure to wake if ye try something else." I sighed, and tried to lower my head, but Jamie held my chin firm in his hand, even though he couldn't see me. Forcing me to look at him was apparently incredibly important.

"You are cruel. And prideful. And you are hurting me." I tried. He released my hands as though they were made of burning metal and brought both of his to rub his face in the dark. I took a few steps away, careful not to agitate the floorboards.

He sighed and sank back against the door. "Christ. Ye made a promise to me, Claire. What kind o' husband would I be if I let ye break your one promise?" I chose not to answer. He pressed on. "Ye belong to me, _Mo Duinne, _whether ye like it or no_._ Ye belong here." I sighed, bringing a hand to my forehead.

"Come here, Sassenach." He ventured. I paused, not quite sure I wanted to. He sighed again. "Where are ye?" I didn't move or say anything. "_Mo Duinne_, you're no makin' it better. _Come here._"

I let out the breath I had apparently been holding and shuffled to Jamie. I accidentally-on-purpose stepped on his foot, but it didn't seem to phase him. He laughed, "Right, well, now you'll have to stand on t' other one as well. Make it square." So I stepped on the other, a bit harder this time, testing my boundaries. Apparently, his feet were made of steel, and something as inconsequential as my own bare foot stepping on them had no impact whatsoever. With me standing on both his feet, he wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my head.

It felt like a cage.

A warm cage, though.

He walked us this way over to the bed and lay on his back without freeing me from his arms. I struggled, and his grip tightened like a vise. "I willna have any of that, lass. I can still tie ye to the bed."

I scoffed. "Mean." I said, although I got the feeling that it was more than futile, and that the most likely course of events would entail me spending a night sleeping on Jamie's chest. A Jamie-bed. Or a Jamie-cage, as the case would have it.

He chucked annoyingly. "Yes, Sassenach. I'm verra mean. But at least I'm no wifeless." I could feel his smile.

I suddenly noticed how tired I was, and decided to stop fighting. There was always tomorrow.


	2. just a note

um, wow. I didn't realize people were even coming to this tiny page! Thank you to the people who are reading this story and making my day whenever I see the story traffic thing going up! It's 3:42 am and I just stayed up to finish the first book, and I couldn't go to sleep without thanking you all for even coming to my story page... is feedback a thing that could happen? Please?


	3. thumbs

hi! so, clearly, people have been reading this because the traffic stats thingy keeps going up :) so thank you! I'm glad people are finding this. I would really like to hear a bit back. It's been a loooong time since I've written any fanfiction, and I probably wouldn't even be doing it now if this stupid book would stop reverberating inside my skull. I say stupid in the best way. My mother asked me if I was enjoying it because she saw how much I'd read in less than a week, and I smiled like an idiot and told her that I was most decidedly not enjoying it because it was tearing me apart. Anyway. Here.

**_A/N: this is based on what I would do if I were Claire. Familiarity and home would win out instead of attraction to Jamie, as much as I hate to say that. I doubt that book-version-non-influenced-by-me Claire would have tried so many times, but I definitely would have. Write what you know, right?_**

It had been two weeks, maybe three, since my last attempt. Jamie still looked at me cautiously, but there was some steel in his expression as well. He also still refused to allow me to sleep to the side of him, instead forcing me to use him as a mattress so that he would be sure to wake if I "try somethin' again." I had no doubt that he had neither forgiven, nor forgotten my wanting to leave him.

Not that I wanted _specifically _to leave him- that was part of the unfortunate collateral damage of my incredibly specific predicament. I didn't want to hurt him at all. I hoped he would forget me, as I never could him, and move on after I left. Which had been planning to do, very carefully, since just after that botched attempt two-or-maybe-three weeks prior.

Jamie was supposed to leave, much to his dismay (and after a mouthy skirmish with Colum about how he "canna leave Claire" or so I gathered), on a trip with a band of other MacKenzie men to the next town to deal with trading or transport or that sort of thing. Truthfully, I didn't care. All that I garnered from the conversation was that he would be away for the night and wouldn't return until the next afternoon.

I waited near the stables and watched him hitch up most of the horses, making pleasant conversation and simultaneously trying and trying not to memorize every detail of his face. I made a mental note as to which horses they were leaving and decided which one to take later that night.

Not many wives made the relatively short trek out to the stables to see off their husbands, as such a trip was hardly a rare occurrence, but the men lingered a minute to allow Jamie to have a "proper goodbye."

"I'll see ye tomorrow, Sassenach, aye?" he asked, a question for which I had an answer, but not one that I cared to tell him at the moment. It didn't matter anyway, just as I was opening my mouth to speak, he pressed a hand to the back of my head and otherwise occupied my mouth, to whoops and hollers by indiscreet eavesdroppers just yards away.

As I pulled back, he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off the ground, effectively bringing me to his eye level. He whispered fiercely in my ear, "I have spies. If they see ye annawhere besides your chamber tonight, I've ordered them to knock ye out and lock ye in the room until I get back. And then, you'll ha'e to deal with me. And I will no be happy." He released me to make eye contact, smiling (obviously for show) as if he'd just whispered sweet nothings in my ear. But there was still steel in his eyes, flashing like a warning siren. He took another moment to press a kiss soundly to my forehead, and intoned, "Bye, Sassenach!" singsong, tauntingly, cheerfully before bounding over to his horse and mounting.

I watched him and the rest of his band of merry men disappear over the small crest of the first hill, before heading back to the castle.

_Spies. _What absolute rubbish. It was like he fancied himself some kind of slave-driving cinema villain! If I'd any idea the reaches of his all-encompassing ego when we'd had to marry, I would have faked an epileptic seizure to avoid it. Then again, I doubt if that would have worked. Apparently my consent was a secondary issue to distancing me from Jack Randall.

I shuddered at the thought.

For a moment, I was fleetingly glad that I was safe (as safe as one could be, considering the falling through time and all that) from Randall, at least. It would be hard and incredibly disconcerting returning home to Frank after my experiences with his psychopathic look-alike great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather, but I had to try.

I trekked back in a pocket of swishing skirts to the castle, and attended to a few patients, my stomach knotting and twisting increasingly so as the sun went down. A sprained wrist, bandaged. Normally, I would have told the patient to ice it, but common icing and refrigeration methods wouldn't be invented for years. A small child with two scraped knees, salve applied and bandaged. A particularly badly bruised backside due to a fall off a horse, leeches applied, though they wouldn't work for the bruised ego, as well.

In truth, I had almost forgotten my best-laid plans for the night (save for concealing a few of the better herbs and medicines within the folds of my skirt, to take with me), due to a rather full afternoon resulting in a creaking back and the beginnings of a very promising headache. I made my way to the bottom of the stairs without interaction, pausing slightly to notice Murtagh conspicuously inconspicuous in a chair set at the bottom of the stairs. One of Jamie's spies, no doubt. I rolled my eyes.

He cast a wary, if slightly annoyed glance at me. I decided that I would be grace itself, and was instantly pleased with myself when I remembered the weighty vial of poppy syrup I was towing with me.

"Murtagh." I said, lowering my face to his level.

"Aye?" he responded, cautiously, as if I were about to give him a polygraph test.

"Why are you not with the other men? On the trip?" I was dancing around the subject. We both knew why he was here.

"Och, couldna verra well leave Castle Leoch without any able-bodied men for the night. What if something were to happen?" He emphasized that last word and raised a rarely-used eyebrow at me, erasing my nonexistent doubts that he was there at Jamie's orders.

He held a mug that had previously held ale, so I offered to refill it for him. He responded with a stoic, "Aye." and watched me with leery eyes as I retreated. I filled it with ale almost to the top, then feigned seeing someone to greet and ducked around a corner. I hastily dug the small vials out of my skirts, almost dropping one, which resulted in my cursing rather more loudly than I would have liked to. No one seemed to notice. I unscrewed the small, flask-shaped vial of poppy syrup, wondering how much to use. Murtagh wasn't very big… but I did need him completely unconscious…

I poured in the whole damn thing.

I returned to Murtagh wide-eyed and smiling, trying to emanate innocence. He eyed me distrustfully, but accepted the drink, and took a large swallow. Still eyeing me, he said, "Best ye get up to bed, now, lass." and I graciously did.

I tried to make as little noise as possible gathering up the last of my things and putting them in the rucksack, which lay in wait for me on the bed this time, instead of under it. I peered at it from across the room, and it peered back. This stupid pouch and I were going to get old staring at each other if I didn't come up successful at some point.

Waiting for the general noise of the evening from downstairs to die down, I began to think about Jamie, feeling far more than I wanted to or hoped I would. Looking at the bed, I thought of him sprawled unconscious, face relaxed in sleep, looking more and more like an overgrown, redheaded golden retriever. I looked to the bedside table and saw a few of his findings, bits of glass and little stones, one that I faintly recognized as obsidian.

I had learned about obsidian from Frank.

Frank. Craigh na Dun. The stones.

It was time.

I spent a moment silently praying to whatever God might be listening or willing to help me, made a snap decision to shed most of my skirts, and slowly opened the woefully creaky door. It was almost entirely quiet inside the castle, save for the howling of the wind outside and the occasional crack of one of the torches on the wall. I stepped down the stairs cautiously, slowly, and saw Murtagh blessedly unconscious in his chair at the bottom. Upon further inspection, I noted more expressions on his face in opium-induced sleep than I ever had when he was conscious. Should have done him a bit of good, too, most of those muscles probably hadn't been used for some time.

I was almost at the bottom of the stairs when I noticed Mrs. FitzGibbons, floating around the kitchen, merry as a teapot. I wasn't sure if she should be counted as a spy or not, but chose to be safe rather than sorry, and scampered up the stairs closest to the bottom, effectively hiding me from her view. I waited for her to finish for 15 minutes, and at last saw her gather up the last few jars that remained and take them around the corner, presumably for storage.

Seizing the opportunity, I quickly ducked out the side door and closed it softly as I could manage. I began to trudge to the stables, which were only about 1/8 of a mile away from the castle, but, in the darkness, it became near impossible. The moon was bright and almost full, but set behind a layer of clouds that diffused the light to almost nothing, save for an orangey ring around it. _Thanks a lot, God, or whoever it was who apparently didn't get the message earlier. This is hard enough when I can see, dammit._

Nearing the barn, I scanned my surroundings one more time to ensure my privacy. I had no doubts that Jamie also had someone in the stables waiting for me. "Spies" was plural, and I had only encountered Murtagh and possibly Mrs. FitzGibbons. The solitary torch inside illuminated everything just enough for me to peek my head in and see if I was actually alone. Scoping around, I noticed no one there. Perhaps there was someone lurking in the stall of the horse that I had planned on taking, a brown mare, rather shorter than was ideal. I took another look around when my gaze froze on something.

Jamie's horse.

I stood there, fixed and rooted with fear, and felt a strong pair of arms encircle my waist before rapidly turning and trapping me against a coarse stone wall. I had dropped my possessions in the moment, and found two hands making a rough grab for my own, and swiftly pinning them above my head on the wall.

My muddy brown eyes met fierce blue, and my heart fell through my chest.

After a moment, Jamie bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes for a second, as if deciding what to do with me. He glanced over at my bag, sprawled on the floor of the barn like Dougal after a night of heavy drinking. He brought his forehead very slowly down to mine, using it to press my head, too, firmly into the wall behind me.

"And where," he said deridingly, frustrated, but not altogether devoid of mischief, "do ye think you're going, Sassenach?"

"I-" before I could finish the thought, he kissed me harshly on the mouth. It was demanding and deep, and I folded like a house of cards. I struggled to get my hands free to respond to him, but he held them firmly by the wrist, at one point transferring one of my hands into his other, so he would have a free hand to ravage me with.

And that he did.

I struggled to remain as detached as I possibly could, still mapping out the castle mentally, thinking of ways I could salvage my plans.

But I could not deny the pleasure that came from his thumb, having trapped both my wrists in his one hand, he was using it to stroke the veins in the soft underside of one of them, where my pulse was beating like a hummingbird- and I've no doubt that it didn't escape his notice.

And I could not ignore the large purple dots that bloomed across the lids of my closed eyes when he softly bit my top lip, proving thought ineffective and unnecessary.

And, for all I tried, I could not circumvent the small squeak of surprise that came out of me when Jamie put his unoccupied hand between my legs.

"Aye, that's a good one." he said approvingly in response. "Do it again." he shifted his hand, and another involuntary squeak ensued. "Och, no, that one wasna good enough." He removed his hand and put his knee there instead, resting between my legs against the wall.

His free hand came up to the ticklish slice above my hip, on my side, where he dug in a thumb. My eyes popped open wide, and I let out another squeak, this one more surprised, and more urgent. He pulled back, and I saw him smirk and raise an eyebrow. He experimentally probed again, and I gave an involuntary, humorless laugh and arched my back. He put and end to that by pushing his upper body down on mine, back against the wall. His lips crashed down on mine, and I forgot about his thumb for a moment, until it started moving again. Forced laughter made kissing ridiculously difficult, and he pulled back again just enough to make eye contact.

"Don't laugh." he smirked, but it sounded like a warning. Sadistic ruddy bastard, he knew exactly what he was doing. My eyes grew wide again, but closed as he bent to kiss me. Slowly, he brought his knee back up between my legs, and used his thumb again. I struggled to stifle giggles, but I was getting overwhelmed. For the first time, I struggled in earnest to bring my hands down, and, after one torturous minute or so, was surprised when he let me. He backed up and lowered himself to a bale of hay.

"Well. That was fun." he smiled. "Ye should try to escape more often, Sassenach." he eyed me amusedly as I struggled to keep my breathing steady, leaning forward and placing my hands on my knees.

"You were supposed to be out of town." I glared at him

"Aye, but I realized abou' halfway there what a stupid idea that was. I shouldna have told ye about my spies. Once I figured ye'd outsmart them, I turned around."

"That must have upset Dougal."

"Och, no. He laughed at me and told me to get on with it, that I was wastin' time by talking." he paused. "How did ye get out of the castle? Murtagh-"

"Opiates." I stood up and smiled, trying (and probably failing) to make my eyes flash warning sirens like his.

"Clever." he said, appraising me with his eyes.

"But you said you had 'spies,' plural. Was it only Murtagh?"

"No, there were three more, outside the castle, but I sent 'em to bed once I got back and decided to wait for ye myself."

I had more or less regained my composure by this point. "Yes, well, I'm so glad it all worked out for you." I glared.

"Don't be mad, Sassenach. It was a good try." he said, cheerfully, condescendingly, and rather annoyingly.

At this point, I had had enough. I had been found, pushed against a wall, restrained, tickled, defiled (not that I minded all that much, truthfully), and condescended toward in the last eight minutes alone. I made for the exit, walking as quickly as I could without running, Jamie in tow behind me like a tugboat.

"Come back, Sassenach. I was only joking." came Jamie's voice. I wasn't paying attention. My focus was on my plans, rendered hopeless, and the growing pit in my stomach.

Frank. Craigh na Dun. The stones.

Frank. Craigh na Dun. The stones.

Frank. Craigh na Dun. The stones.

Faster and faster, I strode out into the field past the stables. Thoughts of Frank, of home, of the whole miserable last six weeks undulated through my head, wearing deeper and deeper, as if walking in a circle over the same patch of soft ground. Vaguely aware of having broken into a run, I heard Jamie's faint, "Claire!" getting closer and closer, until I felt a force behind my knees knock me to the damp ground.

It wasn't a soft landing.

I felt him roll on top of me, and heard him say something like, "I should slap ye proper for running away like that." but I wasn't paying attention. I was looking up, at the soft patch of backlit clouds. They looked like cotton balls. Ugh, that was another thing. Cotton balls wouldn't be mass produced and marketed in this lifetime.

"….to ye. Of all the stupid, irresponsible…" came Jamie's voice again, beaming in and out of my scope of awareness. "Claire? Claire! Are ye even listening to me?" his voice raised, concerned and annoyed, and he grabbed my chin in one hand.

I channeled every bit of my former no-nonsense army nurse persona, and said, "Well, it's a bit difficult when you're cutting off the circulation in my legs, Mr. Fraser. An evolutionary response, I'm sure." We made deadly eye contact in the muted light.

"I see." but he made no effort to move. "And I'd love to help ye, really, but ye see, I have a problem. Clearly, since I'm canna take ye at your word, I've no guarantee that you'll stay here unless you're held down or tied up. And since I dinna have rope on me at the moment, it looks as though I'm out of options." I made the snap decision to try to punch him in the stomach, but he caught my fist neatly with his unoccupied hand. "That," he growled, "was a verra bad idea, Sassenach." he moved to grab my other hand, and, after a brief scuffle, found himself in possession of both of my wrists.

Again.

He pinned them neatly under his massive knees on either side of me. I narrowed my eyes and tried to challenge him. "If you try anything, I'll scream."

He chuckled, "Aye, go ahead. Worst anyone will think is I'm layin' ye out like I should. If they even hear ye." He used one of his hands to brush the hair out of my eyes, and slid the other one to the aforementioned place above my hip, on my side, and grinned wickedly.

"So, what, you're going to tickle me? No slapping me 'til my ears bleed or hitting my arse with a belt?"

"Och, no. Unless you'd prefer it?" he raised a quizzical eyebrow, and I rolled my eyes. "I'll take ye to bed in a few minutes, but righ' now I'm regretting letting ye off that wall, Sassenach." I groaned. "Save that for the bedroom." he advised. "Right now, I'll settle for laughter."

"I hope you choke on it." I said flatly. It didn't matter. He brought his head down to me, and his lips soundly collided with mine. It wasn't all that unpleasant, until he dug his thumb in once again. Among peals of forced laughter, he moved his lips downward to assault my neck. He moved both his hands (thankfully) to peel down the collar of my dress, and gently started massaging my collarbone. Laughter turned to sighing turned to something else completely, and apparently he'd decided that if he took me right there, in the field, we would never get up.

He rolled off of me and stood, reaching both arms out to help me up. I accepted, rubbed my sore wrists. They had been through a lot this evening. We started walking toward the castle, which felt more like a prison march to me. Apparently my speed was unacceptably slow, so Jamie, much to my protest, swiftly hoisted me over his shoulder and started walking, ignoring my ineffectual fists pounding on his back. "Remember the day we met, lass? And I told ye I would throw ye over my shoulder if ye wouldna walk?"

I offered a muffled, "Yes." in response.

"Well, if I'm bein' honest, I was actually a touch disappointet. I wanted to see your arse up close." he laughed, patting it like I was a horse.

"How nice for you." I replied dully, spent.

"Aye, 'tis." he agreed. "I was right, too. Ye weigh no more than a bag of apples." I snorted in response.

We reached the castle and he put me down just outside the door, pressing a hand to the small of my back to guide me inside. Murtagh was still in his chair at the bottom of the stairs, making quite a variety of interesting noises in his sleep. I snickered a bit as we climbed the stairs.

Closing the door to the room firmly with his back, a bit reminiscent of the first altercation of this nature, Jamie eyed me from across the room. He crooked a finger. "Come here."

I obliged, and he turned me and started undoing the laces in the back of my damp dress. I shuddered in relief when the heavy thing finally fell to the floor. I crossed over to the bed, and Jamie followed, sitting next to me and handing me his flask. I looked quizzically at him, and he ordered, "Go on, then. All of it."

I quirked an eyebrow. "How do I know you're not trying to drug me?"

"You tell me, lass. Ye used _all_ of the poppy syrup on Murtagh, no?"

Sighing, I complied, downing the whole flask in perhaps ten large swallows. There weren't many moments of clarity in my time at Castle Leoch thus far, but sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, drinking crude, primal alcohol out of a flask, next to my decidedly sadist and incredibly annoying husband, after yet another failed escape attempt was one of them.

In a moment of unprecedented affability, Jamie put a warm, heavy hand on my knee, and the other on my chin, turning me to look at him. "Claire. Ye do know why I keep bringing ye back, aye?" I didn't respond. "I'm jus' trying to protect ye, Claire. And I ken ye hate me for it, and that's your choice, but please, ye can't keep putting yourself in danger. If I hadna found ye, ye could be frozen, or kidnapped, or raped by now. And bloody Jack Randall wants to do all that and worse to ye. Just let me keep ye safe, _Mo Duinne_, please?"

I swallowed in response. He pulled me on to the bed with him, and wordlessly, gently, insistently made love to me. After we finished, him on his back and me sprawled on his chest, he unanticipatedly began massaging my previously creaking back, pushing me firmly against him and burrowing those stupid thumbs into the thick tendons on either side of my spine. I groaned in response. I was almost asleep when he asked, "Claire?"

"Mmph?"

"… What in hell does 'evolutionary' mean?"

wow. ok. so I've been staying up till basically 4 am and making myself more or less nocturnal in the past few days to finish this chapter. I'm on summer vacation, so it doesn't really matter. This stuff will not stop knocking around in my head. Other than that, THANK YOU for reading! Review? Please? This story has a ton of views but no feedback, and I can't really tell if people are reading this because they like it or because it's laughably bad. Either way, let me know? As far as the sexual stuff goes… I'm 18, and I've only ever had one boyfriend, once, for like two weeks, so the extent of my cardinal knowledge is limited to the minimal amount that I ever did with my boyfriend, high school biology, and Outlander. Excuse anything I may have gotten wrong! I put a lot of myself into Claire, so sorry if she seems a bit OOC. Ok, it's 4:11 am. I am going to reread and post and go to bed. Thank you thank you thank you. REVIEW.


	4. another note

WOW. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! Yesterday alone, this story got almost 350 views! I am so grateful. I definitely have a chapter 3 in the works, which will hopefully be up within the next few days. This was always meant to just be a three-parter, because I'm starting college on the 26th and I need to finish, er- START packing. Buuuut once I get to school, if I end up with a little bit of free time and I get another idea, I am definitely not saying that I won't post something else! Thank you for your beautiful reviews. Please keep them coming!

I wanted to touch on something I got in a review yesterday, where it was said that it may be a bit unrealistic for Claire to keep trying to leave because she's clearly where she needs to be. I relate quite a lot to Claire, but I don't entirely understand her, so I'm trying to draw on the parts that I do understand. The stubbornness, for one. She doesn't KNOW for sure that she's with her soulmate (this is set in the first few parts of the very first book) and, though she's attracted to him, she feels very trapped. And, if it were me, which is sort of how I'm writing this seeing as I am not Claire and can't claim to fully understand anything she does, every little thing would set me off and I would want to run away. If this seems OOC, my apologies. I'm still kind of learning.

Again, thank you all so much, and I'll try to have chapter 3 up within the next few days before I head off to freshman year!


	5. Hit me

**_A/N: hi, everyone! Thank you so much to everyone for reading this, especially the-skywriter.321 for leaving the sweetest review ever. It was actually that review that made me really want to finish and post this! This story has gotten a bigger response than I ever anticipated, because of the page not being "Outlander" and such. Aside from that, it has been pointed out to me that the premise of this story (Claire continuously trying to leave) isn't entirely realistic. I apologize if Claire seems OOC, but, as I've said from the beginning, I am writing Claire a bit more like myself. And myself would feel very trapped. Write what you know, right? Anyway, sorry to Diana Gabaldon, who has spoken out against fan fiction. If your story wasn't so darn good, maybe it wouldn't inspire so much. Alas, it did. And here you go. _**

**_IMPORTANT: THERE IS A PART WHERE THERE ARE ITALICS IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING A LINE OF DIALOGUE. THE ITALICS ARE THE SUBTEXT OF THE DIALOGUE THAT WAS SPOKEN IMMEDIATELY BEFORE. Example:_**

"Regular dialogue." _This is what the regular dialogue actually means._

**_—_****_-_**

I hadn't planned this one.

This one was the result of several entirely independent variables. For one thing, yet another night of dancing and storytelling had left me completely drained and falling asleep on Jamie's shoulder in the dining hall. I have faint memories of him carrying me up the stairs and depositing me in bed.

I woke up later, alone, freezing. I hadn't realized just how much I depended on Jamie's furnace-like warmth to keep me alive at night. Jovial sounds of a party that was nowhere near the end drifted up the stairs, but I was far too consumed with gasping for air to notice.

Guilt.

Imminent, inescapable, crushing guilt.

It was a nightmare. I learned once that one immediately forgets 50% of one's dream upon waking up, and, within ten minutes, supposedly 90% is gone. Except it wasn't. I paced the room frantically, mentally swatting at vapors of images that hovered on the edges of my consciousness.

Frank.

The stones.

Jack Randall.

A cliff.

The witches.

Jamie.

Jamie's hands.

Jamie's fingers.

Jamie's fingers relentlessly converging on my upper arms, shaking me.

Shaking.

Falling.

Frank.

A flux of surprisingly hot tears flooded down my face. Guilt. Frank, who loved me, who wouldn't stop loving me no matter what I did. Frank, who I had left behind. Frank, who I had failed.

I had to try, one last time. I owed him that much.

I stayed my tears with the sleeve of the gown Jamie hadn't bothered to remove when he set me on the bed, and exited the room quietly. Not that it mattered, the raucous noise downstairs would suffice to have hid me if I were an elephant with pots and pans for feet. I rounded the atrium, aiming for the back staircase, and passed Colum's office. I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard Jamie's voice, drifting over from behind the door, set slightly ajar. He was refusing what sounded like it would have been his third or fourth drink. It seemed an amiable refusal, but a refusal nonetheless.

I had no idea how much time I had. If Jamie was refusing drinks, it meant he probably wasn't planning on staying very much longer. I watched the line of firelight underneath the door for moving shadows, but didn't notice anything. I crept down the hall, towards the staircase, and leaned against the wall for a moment once I was hidden, cursing myself for not thinking to take anything from the room. I couldn't go back, or I would lose my nerve.

The morning after my last attempt, Jamie had wordlessly gone out to the stables to retrieve my bag, and carefully unpacked and replaced my things in the room. I had blinked at him, guiltily, from under the covers, and he had made very pointed eye contact when he left the room with the bag and returned without it.

My breathing slowed for a moment, then caught in my throat as I saw two small children, probably 5 or 6, tromping up the stairs. I knew them, from the surgery, as nephews of some kitchen maid or other. They had been in to see me almost every other day, for scraped knees or elbows or some other extremity prone to abrasion from rough play.

I also knew that they always greeted me, loudly, with an exclamatory, "Mrs. Fraser!" whenever they saw me.

Their wide, brown, innocent little eyes met mine, and I knew the greeting that would most probably lead to Jamie finding me and dragging me back to the room was not far off. Thinking quickly, I gave them a mischievous smile and held a finger to my lips. I gestured with my head up the staircase and held myself a little closer to the wall, as if I were playing.

Hide and seek.

A very high-stakes game of hide and seek.

But still, they understood hide and seek. Almost as if they were echoes of each other, they held their fingers to their lips as well, and continued tromping up the stairs, trying (and failing) to stifle giggles.

I let out the breath that I had apparently been holding and continued down the stairs, trying to look both unsuspicious and mostly hidden.

The door was blessedly only about 10 paces from the bottom of the stairs, and I softly slipped outside. Leaning back against it, I ran my palms across the wooden surface of the door, warped by wind and drizzle, crabbed and knobbled as if beaten, and the knots raised, fleshy welts.

The moon. I hadn't seen a full, unobstructed moon for months. Usually, the clouds would cover it and block the light, but this moon shone like the headlights on a train. Rare is a full moon on a clear night like this, and I knew it would both help and impede my progress. Yes, I would have more light to see by, but whoever would come after me (and I'd no doubt that there would be someone) would have more light to see _me_ by. The damp plains on the way out of Leoch offered little by way of cover, so I would have to make good time.

I squelched toward the stables. Clearly, the moisture that had evacuated from the air had found a new home in the ground. My shoe got stuck in the mud- twice- and I cursed both times.

I wished fervently for alcohol.

It didn't matter. I was perhaps two days of heavy travel away from my only chance to get home, to Frank, and hopefully the hell out of Scotland, and that alone was enough to substitute for any liquid courage I may have needed.

Of course, there would be things I would miss. The simplicity and immediacy of life, to some extent. Not the freezing bathwater, of course. Mrs. Fitz. And Jamie…

No.

Nope.

Not going there.

My resolve was strong, even if I wasn't.

I reached the stables, surprisingly alone, and bridled the horse that I had thought to take last time. Brown, meek, and rather stubby, her name was _Luch_. Jamie had affectionately referred to her as "Luchie."

_"__What does it mean?" I had asked him._

_"__Mouse." he replied, grinning._

_"__That… is a terrible name for a horse." I teased him, between giggles._

_"__Aye, but it suits her." he brought a substantial hand up to her ears, and I noticed that they were, in fact, rather large. "And she loves me annaway."_

I shook the exchange from my head. Memories and second thoughts were costing me precious time. For all I knew, Jamie could have already gone to the room, found me missing, and be on his way to the stables right now.

I saddled her, quicker than I would have been able to a few weeks ago, led her outside and mounted. Reaching forward to scratch behind her giant ears, I softly kicked her in the side, and she began a slow trot. I squeezed her a bit harder with my legs, and she snuffled, then began cantering. Faster than a trot, slower than a gallop, still not fast enough. I didn't have any bags or anything that would have slowed her more than having a rider on her back, so I kicked her in the side again, and she shot forward like a rocket.

I felt as if I were flying. A rather bumpy flight, naturally, but the ground blurred beneath my vision and the horizon rolled toward me. I felt waves of long-awaited freedom catch in my throat, roll off my back.

I was going home.

I felt the rhythm of Luch's hoofbeats under me. _One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. _It was almost meditative, and my mind started clearing.

It must have been five minutes since we'd set out, then ten, then fifteen. A quarter of an hour, and I started to get the fleeting impression that I might actually be able to get away with it.

"Fleeting" being the operative word.

Luch's colossal ears perked up and turned backward, like satellites. She slowed a bit, despite my squeezing her with my legs, and I caught a murmur of what she was hearing.

Hoofbeats.

Distant, thunderous hoofbeats of a much faster horse.

I frantically looked around for cover of trees, a hill, anything, but there was nothing but subtly rolling plains for miles. As a last-ditch effort, I kicked Luch again and smacked her near her tail. She reared and sprang forward faster than she had before.

It didn't matter. A prematurely embarrassed humming began to swell in my ears, and hotter tears than before stung at the edges of my eyelids. The hoofbeats pressed closer.

I wasn't going home.

Damn. Damn it. How was this fair? In what world, on what planet, in what bloody _solar system_ was this fair? Ugh, _that_ was another thing! No one would discover Neptune for a bloody century!

I felt like I was floating. I had lost my parents. Uncle Lamb. I had found an anchor in Frank, something to keep me from drifting off completely. And even that was ripped away, by a sodding _circle of stones_. Was it too much to ask for a _goddamn anchor?!_

Jolted from my bitter reverie, I heard Jamie yell, "_Luch! Stad!_" Taking the command like a puppy eager to please its master, Luch slowed immediately. I kicked her again, resentfully, but she only huffed in reply. It didn't matter, Jamie had ridden ahead and turned his horse perpendicular to mine to block off the road. "Nice try, Sassenach!" he called to me, bitingly, sarcastically. I gave a short, humorless laugh in response. "No, I mean it. Ye got quite far this time. Twenty minutes on an' the trees get thick. Wouldna have been easy to find ye."

Luch approached him genially with me in tow, hiding behind my hair, and brought her colossal nose to his outstretched palm. "_Cailín maith, Luch, mo mhuirnín._" I rolled my eyes.

I should have taken a different bloody horse.

He could compliment the animal all he wanted. I wasn't going to listen. I swung my legs over the saddle and dismounted with the grace of a broken umbrella trying to open. Walking decidedly toward the horizon, I heard Jamie dismount. "_Luch! Dul abhaile!"_ he smacked her rear and she took off down the road towards the castle.

I sighed, still walking away. "You should go with her." _I mean you should go back to the castle and leave me alone._

"Och, no. She kens the way." _I know exactly what you mean, and it's not happening._

He took his horse by the reins and jogged to catch up with me. I walked a bit faster. He caught me by the elbow. "Claire." he growled, "Get on the horse."

_"__Claire? Claire! Get in the car? Please?" Frank had said, driving slowly alongside me as I walked on the sidewalk, ignoring the trail of honking drivers behind him. We had argued about something or other over dinner at a restaurant, and I had stormed out on him. It was early days, just after we were married._

_"__No. Get on with you, you're holding up traffic."_

_"__Claire, darling, it's raining. We don't have to talk, just, please, get in the car?"_

_"__I'd rather die." I didn't mean it. Oh, how I didn't mean it._

_"__You'll catch cold."_

_"__Worth it." Drivers were starting to try to maneuver around him._

_"__Claire, I can't keep driving like this. I'm going to circle the block, ok? And when I come back, I need you to get in the car. Please."_

_And I had ducked into a coffee shop once he was out of view and watched him circle the block seven or eight times, looking for me. He finally drove home, and I took a taxi back. I arrived dripping, apologetic, and he kissed my cheek and never said another word about it._

_I still don't remember what we had fought about._

"Sassenach, I dinna want to say it again!" He took my chin in his hand, snapping me out of my momentary remembrance. "Get. On. _The horse_." He said it through his teeth. The glow from the moon shone on his eyes, illuminating stormy blue set in the deep tan of his face. I, on the other hand, leagues paler than Jamie, was sure that I looked like a corpse.

I wrenched my elbow and chin free, and set off again, walking. He jogged, once more, to catch up with me. "Do ye have a death wish, Claire? Is tha' it? Are ye… _touched_?"

I wheeled around. "_What_? No! I can't believe you just asked me if I'm mad!"

"You're not then, are ye? Cause ye could've had me fooled, woman!" It was getting heated now. He stopped my walking with an arm like a seatbelt and spun me to face him, arms holding my shoulders in place like a pair of tightening vises. "Do ye have any idea what you're doing to me, Claire? When ye keep tryin' to leave? People ken, Claire! And they chaff me about it, and I didna mind so much at first, but ye keep doing it! 'Oh, Jamie, Jamie with the wee, scheming, Sassenach wife! Canna keep her happy, eh, Jamie, lad? What's the matter? Ye canna possibly be that bad in bed!'"

I had a brief internal struggle to stifle giggles, and it wasn't entirely successful. His gaze darkened, and his voice turned to steel. "I'm glad ye find it so amusing, Sassenach, truly. How would ye like it, then? If I made a promise to ye, and your job was to see that I keep it, and I was bent on breakin' it as if my life depended on it?"

"How would _I _like it?! How would _I _like it?!" I wrung my shoulders free and started walking again. "Indulge me, Jamie, please! How would _you _like it if you were traveling, innocently, then _assaulted_, nearly _raped_, then _kidnapped_, basically held _hostage_, and married off like a bloody concubine?!" I was nearly hysterical. Jamie opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. "Oh, and _then_, to add _insult to injury_, how would you very well like it if you kept trying to get home, and someone kept stopping you and bringing you back? Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, I feel like the bloody Hindenburg!"

Jamie looked bewildered, hurt… mostly confused. "The- the what, Sassenach?"

My eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as I realized my mistake. "Nothing. Folk tale. Not important." I hastily lied. Jamie could usually tell when I was lying, but the heat of the moment covered it up. "I just want to go home, Jamie."

"Aye, to be sure! Get on the horse, I'll take ye right now!"

"You know bloody well what I mean."

"Aye, ye mean your old home? Oxfordshire? It's no an option, Claire! Ye ken what's waiting for ye there? Jack Randall, and a thousand bloody redcoats! They mean to _kill _ye, Claire! And probably do some right filthy things to ye beforehand! Leoch is your home now, as I've tried to make it so. It's the only place I can keep ye safe, understand?"

I did. I did, which afforded me a terrifying realization.

I wasn't getting back to those goddamned stones.

"Oh, I understand!" I said, resentfully. "I am _so sorry_, Jamie, for wanting some frigging freedom! Do _you_ understand that this place feels like a sodding _prison_?"

"Prison or death, Sassenach. I suppose it's up to ye, but I'll be damn well buried in the ground before I let ye choose the latter."

I huffed and continued walking, Jamie in tow. He scoffed disbelievingly. "Ye ken, I dinna understand ye, Sassenach! Ye try to leave once, I bring ye back t' bed and calm ye, and I think it's done. Then ye try to leave _again_, so that time it wasna a surprise, and I take ye back t' bed _again_, and I think it's done. It doesna end with ye, does it? Why is it so? Am I going to be still chasin' ye on horseback when we're 40, Claire?"

"No, it's-"

"Are ye really so unhappy?"

"It's not-"

"Then why is it, Claire, that ye keep pushing me away? It's like you're so busy feelin' your own private pain that ye canna even see who else you're hurting!"

"I'm not-"

He pressed further. "And why is it, Claire, that whenever I touch ye-" he brought a hand to the side of my face, softly, and withdrew it. My hand immediately flew up to rub the ghost of his hand away, bitterly. "See! There! Right there! Whenever I touch ye, ye wipe it off with your hand as soon as ye can! Can ye really no bear me? Is it really so bad?"

"It's not you." A pitiful justification if there ever was one.

"No? No me? Who is it, then? Dougal? Colum? I ken Father Bain hates your guts, but-"

"_What_?! No! It's me! Jamie, it's me! I-"

He cut me off and blocked my path with his body. "Over there, where the trees start," he pointed, "is where Mackenzie land ends. We fix this here, now. If ye go any further, I will chase ye and carry ye back kicking and screaming. I want ye to be happy, but I willna risk ye going past where Randall can't reach ye."

I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. Jamie lowered his eyes and his voice. "Do ye know what we have to do when we get a new horse, Claire? A feral one?"

I rolled my eyes. "Why on earth would I possibly know that?"

"Och, I dinna ken. I thought perhaps you might ha'e listened to me for five seconds over the past few months. My mistake." He smirked. A Jamie smirk. I opened my mouth to argue, but he sighed dramatically and continued. "Ye have to break it, show it who's in charge. Tie it up to something for a few days. Only feed and water it when it does something right. And once it kens who has the authority, then ye can teach it to be ridden." He paused. "D'ye need to be broken, Claire?"

I took a petulant step back. "How dare you! This isn't bloody _Taming of the Shrew_, Jamie!"

He took a step forward, closing the distance I had just created, and grinned. "Och, I wish! If ye were Kate, Sassenach, you'd be sufficiently manageable by now! She doesna have half the poison you've got." I took another step back, and he took another one forward. "But I'm serious, Claire. I dinna want to break ye- it's more fun kissing a woman than a girl. But if ye need to be tied up, or starved, or both, I canna say I won't enjoy it. Is that what ye want?"

"No! Of course not! But-"

"But what, Claire? Jesus God, woman! You're already in my head, and you're making me crazy! What more could ye possibly want? You-" he paused, smiling cynically and pointing a finger at me. "You're fighting for the sake of fighting, aren't ye? You're so frustrated, ye canna see reason. Go on, then," he tapped his chest. I looked at him quizzically. "Hit me. Here."

I gave a short, humorless laugh. "And what good can that possibly do? You're like a brick wall."

"Just do it, Sassenach. You'll feel better." I shook my head incredulously, inhaled, and drew a fist back. Jamie grabbed it in his hand. "Thumb out. Unless ye mean to dislocate it." He adjusted my appendage carefully. "I ken ye want to fight me, and ye mean to fight me, and I'll not fight back. Just let me know when you're done fighting me." It was a loaded statement.

I drew my fist back again, and let it go. It came to a dead stop when it hit Jamie's chest. "Och, come on, Sassenach. You're _my _wife. I ken you can do better than that." Both fists. Alternately. Over and over and over again, until I had to gasp for air, and even then, harder still.

I probably looked quite foolish.

Jamie stood there, stoic, occasionally swaying with the minimal force of my incredibly ineffectual fists. I didn't realize that I was sobbing until I felt Jamie's arms close around me, slowly, even as I was beating on his chest. I fought him all the way. He held one firmly on the small of my back and one to the back of my neck. Fists turned to flat palms resting on his chest, then I brought one to cover my face.

He slowly rocked me back and forth, crushing me to him and supporting most of my weight. "Shhh, _mo duinne. _That's it. It's all right. Shhh." Over and over again, as if he were soothing a small child.

"Stop it." I muttered.

"Stop what, Sassenach?"

"The pet names. Stop it with the pet names."

"And why should I do that, _mo duinne_?"

"I want to stay mad at you."

"And ye canna do that if I dinna say 'Claire?'"

"Right."

He chuckled. "Well, _Sassenach_," he paused. I groaned. "It's clear, _mo duinne_, that I canna ever, _gràidheag-_"

"That's a new one."

"Aye, means 'sweetheart.'" I blushed, but it didn't matter. "Where was I? Oh, aye, I canna ever use your name again, _mo mhuirnín._"

"I take offense to that. I heard you call the horse that earlier."

"Oh, I did. And sometimes I like her better, to be sure." I kicked him in the shin. He crushed me to him a bit tighter.

"I hate that stupid horse."

"Och, no. Luchie's a good girl. If she'd kept running with ye, ye'd be halfway to Jack Randall by now. And he'd find ye before I would, no doubt."

I shuddered at the thought.

"You are safe. But ye have to stay here, at Leoch. Do ye hear me, Sassenach?"

"Yes." I closed my eyes and exhaled. "Yes, I hear you."

"Verra good. I'm damn tired, Sassenach. Are ye ready to ride back?"

"No."

"Right then." He scooped me up and started down the road, horse in tow. I would have fought against it, but I didn't have the energy.

"I just said I wasn't ready." I protested.

"No, ye said ye weren't ready to _ride _back. Ye said nothing about bein' carried. Unless you'd prefer to be dragged?" I made an indignant noise, and he chuckled, pressed a warm kiss to my forehead as an afterthought. I hadn't realized how freezing I was.

I fell in and out of sleep, and he had tried to put me on the horse twice, thwarted both times by my ornery noises. I was enjoying the warmth of his arms, and I did not want to be moved. Both times, he responded good naturedly, constraining me closer to his chest.

When we reached the castle, most everyone had gone to bed. The noise was minimal, except for Mrs. Fitz's worried little intonations when she saw Jamie carrying me.

"Is th' poor thing alright? What's happened?"

"Went looking for me in the stables. Fell asleep in the hay. I dinna know what I'm going to do wi' her." I heard him laugh, felt him shake his head.

Mrs. Fitz took hold of one of my limp, icy hands and held it to her cheek. "She's frozen! Get ye to bed now, Jamie. And warm her up, will ye?"

"I'll do my best."

He climbed the stairs and put me down just inside the door to the room. "Ye have to stand for a moment, Sassenach. Unless you mean to sleep in your dress." Truthfully, I wouldn't have minded, but Jamie made quick work of the laces, letting everything fall to the floor in a heap. He disrobed and pulled me to bed with him, settling me on his chest, as always. I pressed my naked chest to his, savoring in the warmth, and he moaned and pulled my mouth against his. He cupped my face as if it were a tiny bird, but the fingers of his other hand dug into my back like it was warm sand.

Admittedly, we were both too tired to do much more, and he moved me back down to his chest again. Just as it was last time, he burrowed his thumbs into my back, massaging and pressing me tightly against him. "Perhaps I should run away more often, if this is what I get when I come back."

"Aye, sure, but you'll also get a bit of this." He moved one of his hands down and inserted a thumb in my side, like last time, making me squeak and arch with surprise before struggling. He stopped after a moment and moved his hand back to my spine.

A few minutes passed before I spoke again. "Jamie?"

"Aye?"

"I'm done."

"Done with what?"

"Fighting you. I'm done fighting you."

"About time, Sassenach." he smirked. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it. After a moment, he ventured, "Tell me a story, _mo duinne_."

"What kind of story?"

"That folk tale ye mentioned. Tell me about the Hindenburg."

—

**WHOOOO LORDY. Writing this story has been SUCH a roller coaster. Thank you so much to everyone who supported me, I hope you like this ending! It's 3:15 am and I leave TOMORROW to start my freshman year of college, so I'm going to quickly re read and post! Thank you Diana Gabaldon, for your beautiful characters, and for ruining my social life. Thank you, ********, for most of the pretty words in this piece. I don't think I've ever done so much research for a fanfic. THANK YOU READERS! I would love feedback, but be warned, I don't plan on changing any part of this piece unless I got some major historical fact wrong that I need to change, so just try to enjoy it for what it is if you don't like it. Ok. Reread, then post, then bed, then pack, then bed, then looooong drive, then college! Wish me luck!**


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